A Father's Grief
by Eunoia
Summary: Giles' reaction to Buffy's death. Takes place after The Gift.


Disclaimer: I wish I owned these characters, but unfortunately I don't. They are all the property of Mutant Enemy.  
  
After they had thwarted what Giles hoped would be their last apocalypse, there was no partying, no taking a moment, no video night. There was just silence and a sunrise. No one spoke. And no one could take their eyes off her. She looked peaceful, as clichéd as that was. Her eyes were closed, unlike those of the last corpse Giles had loved. She could have been sleeping. Any moment now her eyes could open, and she would get up, and tease them for their fear, their grief. "We saved the world; I say we party," she would say, and they would breathe a sigh of relief and go on to fight another day. To die another day. Because it was inevitable. He had trained her for the past five years in the art of death. And as difficult and stubborn she could be, eventually she, like all of them, succumbed.  
  
They stood there for what seemed like an infinite length of time. Willow and Tara, clutching each other. Xander carrying Anya, her head resting on his shoulder like a tired child. Dawn, Spike, and he each stood alone, staring at the body of the only person they had left in the world. The only person they cared to hold in a time of grief.  
  
Giles realized that they were waiting for him to say something, to do something, to be the grown-up, as he always had thus far. Finally, he spoke. "Spike, get back to your crypt. The sun's almost completely up. Xander, go get your car. We'll take Dawn home, and then we'll—we'll bury her."  
  
Dawn and Xander interjected at the same time. Dawn was louder. "I'm not going home. I'm coming with you."  
  
"Fine, it doesn't really matter, I suppose."  
  
Xander repeated his previously unheard statement. "Giles, what do you mean we'll bury her? We need to call someone, 911, anyone."  
  
But the Watcher in him had kicked in. "Xander, we can't have the demons of this town knowing she's dead. It would be disastrous. As far as we know, no new slayer will be called, as long as Faith is still alive."  
  
"Maybe she doesn't have to be dead."  
  
"Willow, what are you suggesting?" he asked, knowing perfectly well what the answer would be.  
  
"It's just...she's only been gone for a few minutes. The causes are mystical this time, so CPR won't do it, but—"  
  
Giles had entertained the notion for longer than he should have. "No. It's against the very laws of nature, and would almost certainly have dire consequences. I can't allow it."  
  
"The laws of nature or the laws of the watcher's council, Giles?" Willow responded, her tone sharp, all traces of tears gone from her voice now. "Buffy was more than just the slayer. We can't just let her—"  
  
"She chose this. She knew what she was doing," came Dawn's voice from the stairs. "She wanted me to tell you she figured it out and that she was okay, Giles."  
  
Giles knew this should make him feel better, but he didn't think it did. He was hardly aware of himself anymore. "You see, Willow. She wouldn't want you to bring her back."  
  
"But what if she's—never mind," said Willow, her eyes avoiding Giles'. He should have known that she wouldn't have given up that easily, but at the time he didn't care about anyone but Buffy.  
  
So they had taken Giles' advice. They buried Buffy in the park in the early hours when no one was around. Xander wanted to put in a gravestone, but Giles vetoed that idea. It defeated the whole purpose, didn't it? The boy could be so foolish. At times, Giles envied him that. Willow offered to do a small spell to simulate a gravestone for a few minutes. Tara looked concerned with this plan, looking to Giles to forbid it, as he knew he should, but he honestly didn't care at that point, and Willow went ahead with it.  
  
Willow and Tara moved into the Summers home after that. Not Buffy's house, not Joyce's. He supposed it was Dawn's now. He was grateful for the time the witches spent with the girl, absolving him from the duty of parenting her.  
  
That was what they all expected him to do; to be the father, like he had been for Buffy. But he wasn't Buffy's father. A father would have protected her. When she had told him all those years ago that she was quitting, a father would have told her to run away and never return. Instead, he simply thrust her destiny upon her even more fervently than before.  
  
He knew Dawn needed him to be her father. About a week after it happened, she showed up at his door at 10:00 in the morning. He was battling a raging hangover, had been every morning for the past week, in fact, and almost hadn't gotten up, but in the end, his innate sense of propriety had caused him to answer the door. "I tried to go to school today, but I just..." she said, staring at his welcome mat.  
  
"Why didn't you go back home?" he asked, trying to ignore the hurt look in her eyes.  
  
"Willow and Tara were so excited that I was ready to go back. I didn't want to upset them, you know? They've got enough to deal with."  
  
"As do you. I'm sure they would understand."  
  
"Right. I know. I just thought maybe I could hang out here for awhile. If that's okay."  
  
It wasn't okay, not in the least, but he could hardly turn the poor girl away. "Yes, of course. Come on in."  
  
Dawn entered, looking at the empty bottles laying around, and at the piles of records he had all over his floor, the result of a futile venture from the previous night to find just the right song to quell his grief. She sat on the couch, gingerly placing her backpack on an empty chair.  
  
He had stood there, looking at her, not sure of what to say. He didn't quite know what she wanted.  
  
Finally she spoke. "Giles, I miss her so much. She told me to be strong for her, and I'm trying so hard, but I just—everyone leaves me." She burst into tears.  
  
"Perhaps we should call your father."  
  
"What? No. I don't want to see him. Besides, I think he's on some trip. Spain, or something. I don't know. Besides, if you think about it, I've never even met him." She choked on a sob there, at the strange fact that had just occurred to her.  
  
Giles had hated this virtual stranger, Hank Summers for so long. He thought he could never forgive him for abandoning his daughters as he had. But the hatred had melted into understanding. Nothing good ever came of the love of a conflicted man. Giles had wished so many times in the last week that he had never come to Sunnydale. Perhaps this man had it all figured out. Maybe he had looked at his daughters one day and realized he loved them far too much to stick around.  
  
"Giles, I'm so sorry."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"It should have been me. It was meant to be me. I'm the Key, and I shouldn't have let her jump. That grave was meant for me."  
  
Giles hesitated for far too long before he responded. He knew she needed him to tell her it wasn't her fault and that Buffy wanted it, and a number of other things, but all he could think was that she was right. It should have been her. "No, no Dawn. You shouldn't say such things," he said, but his tone betrayed his true thoughts. She looked up at him and she knew.  
  
"I think I'm going to go home. I'll see you later," she said, holding back tears, as she grabbed her bag and rushed out of the house. Again, he knew he should go after her, should hug her and let her cry into his shirt, should take her home and tuck her into bed, and tell her it would be fine. But he was so sick of what he should do. He had followed the rules for too long now.  
  
He suddenly had the strong desire to see Ethan. Too bad his old friend was currently locked up in a government facility. That was when he first considered going home to England.  
  
He didn't see any of them for a week after that. One day, on his way to the liquor store to restock, he ran into Xander and Anya on their way to the Summers' home for dinner. Xander looked uncomfortable at Giles' disheveled appearance, but Anya ran to him and gave him a hug, only to pull away, "due to smelliness," she said.  
  
After that they all stood around awkwardly. "G-man," said Xander weakly.  
  
Giles didn't bother to give him the irritated response he expected. "Xander," he replied with a small nod.  
  
"You wanna come to dinner? Tara's cooking, don't worry. No Xander Supreme."  
  
"I don't know. I mean, I'm quite busy at the moment."  
  
"Giles. Come on. You're not fooling anyone."  
  
"Alright. I'll come, if that's what you want."  
  
The trio walked in silence to Revello Drive. Giles glanced at their hands, fingers entwined with each other. If it wasn't for Anya's manicured digits, Giles was sure he wouldn't be able to see where Xander's hand ended, and hers began. Their hand-holding was all part of the façade. Perhaps she actually loved him, but Xander just loved that she loved him. He couldn't blame the lad. As far as he could tell, not very many people had loved him like she did, if at all. She saw his flaws, pointed them out, and kissed them better. This is all that Xander saw in her. He didn't realize that she was holding onto him for dear life. So it would end. And seeing as Xander was her only tie to this life, Giles didn't want to be there when it did. Anya was a resourceful girl, and powers or not, a vengeance demon scorned couldn't be pretty.  
  
When they finally reached the house, Willow answered the door, surprised to see Giles. For a moment, she looked as though she were going hug him, but then thought better of it, and awkwardly moved to let them in. Dinner was just as awkward, with Dawn sullenly pushing the food around on her plate and then excusing herself. After dinner, Giles offered to do the dishes, simply for the sake of removing himself from the oppressive silence. Tara helped him.  
  
Of all the scoobies, Tara was annoying him the least these days. Perhaps it was because he didn't see Buffy every time he looked at her. With Willow and Xander every gesture, every word was laden with images of Buffy, in the library, in the graveyard, at his apartment, at the Magic Box...Buffy laughing, crying, yelling...it was almost unbearable. Or maybe it was because Tara didn't try to comfort him, or distract him. She seemed to understand his need for space. Whatever the reason, he was comforted by her presence.  
  
He had to admit, Willow did have good taste. He had never had an issue with either Oz or Tara. But as with Xander and Anya, the witch's relationship was not perfect. Tara adored Willow. Willow had seen herself in Tara; that shy, timid girl, and had made it her mission to care for her and give her confidence. And she had succeeded, but in doing so, had created a lover who placed Willow above all else. And Giles could tell she enjoyed that control. Today's Willow would not quiver in fear at the approach of Cordelia or Harmony. Tara's sole purpose some days seemed to be to build Willow up. Both girls seemed to be content with the situation, but Giles didn't have a good feeling. Willow was growing more powerful by the day. He knew he should be there to keep an eye on her, but he was tired of being the responsible adult.  
  
"I think I'm going to head back to England soon," he blurted out, as he scraped lasagna off a plate. Tara looked at him, clearly shocked. "My job here, as watcher has ended, so my continued presence serves no purpose."  
  
"Oh. I guess that makes sense. We're going to miss you, Mr. Giles."  
  
"And I shall miss you. All of you." As he said it, Giles realized it was true. But he couldn't stay any longer. 


End file.
